Difference between revisions of "Logs:Today's Troubles, Tomorrow's Problems"

It didn't seem quite so long during the light of day, but as the night came and the light faded, she couldn't really see the end of the bowl. She liked the light and the light liked her and this moonlight was a weak substitute for how the sun's gleam set her skin glistening. How warm its brightness felt. She did not like the shadows that crept in the dark, waiting for her around every turn and bend. She didn't revel in how people and dragons suddenly loomed like monsters in their black mirrors that stretched along the bowl floor. Winter was coming, she knew, just around that corner, and it wasn't a thought she liked much at all. But she wouldn't think about it. At least not now. It wasn't a trouble for today at any rate; today had troubles all on their own that were consuming her pretty little head.

Today's troubles all came down to this final trial: making it across the bowl one step at a time.

And so she began to walk, traipsing along, heedless to the stares she might be attracting from all walks of Weyr life; people and dragons alike. It was late enough that there weren't so many objects to avoid, and a grit of determination furrowed her dark brow line inward.

Until about halfway. Halfway. She could see the steps leading upward and the solace of warmth and consoling arms, she could just see the trace glow lights as they emanated from the other caves - the weyrs of other goldriders and their partners. It was at the halfway point she decided to rest, leaning her tired frame against the side of the bowl wall she had been hugging in her long trek. She'd just close her eyes for a moment and take a breath before forging onward.

Some time later, discomforted in her position and an odd snoring sound in her head, her eyes flew open and instinctively, her head tipped back, exposing her long throat to the sky, fully expecting the sun to warm her cold breath and finding, instead, the inky dark of night. Oh, she had wasted so much time. So much time.

Worry encapsulated her tired brain and with muscles aching from the awkward stance of her brief sleep, she continued forward, making better time this time, pressed forward without stop by that nagging concern. The steps were taken one at a time, awkward for her fatigue, but the rest of the way was quite clear, and as she moseyed up along the short corridor into the weyr, she saw the end in sight: the just as fatigued, once crying mess of a girl she called hers.

The concern abated, sudden relief flooding her with a warmth not unlike the sun. Ysavaeth nudged her large head beneath one of Iolene's arms, curling her long neck about the girl protectively. Instinctive shifts turned Io away from the wall she'd scooted herself against, as far from the blood stained floor as possible, and into the comfort of her dragon's hide, her dragon's attention, her dragon's love. Her mouth worked, wetting dry lips and as the girl made herself more comfortable, Ysavaeth noticed, just before her own eyes closed, that Io's cheeks were flushed and sticky again. She really would have to have a talk with her later about how a goldrider should behave. She would have to devise a plan. But later.

Right now's troubles included trying not to yawn in such an unladylike way before she fell asleep.